


Lost and Lonely Souls

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Holiday Loneliness, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 07:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8964952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: “On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, three broken ribs, two black eyes, and a bullet through my fucking knee.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to have a thing for bar fics...Slightly angsty Christmas fic ahead.

Jason kicks at a pile of dark slush as he walks down the street, hands shoved in the pockets of his old brown leather jacket. He’s got a long sleeved henley and a heavy sweater on underneath, but even with lined gloves, he’s still cold. He hates the cold. 

_I could be tucked away in my apartment right now with the heater cranked to full blast with a cup of tea and a book, but no. I’m the dumbass who wanders the streets on Christmas Eve because he doesn’t want to be alone, no matter how many times I tell myself this night ain’t any different from all the other nights I’m alone during the year._

He purposefully didn’t go out wearing his Red Hood gear. As much as a good fight would get him going, it wasn’t what he was after. _Not that I even know what that is. Fuck, what the hell am I even doing?_

After walking a few more blocks and kicking at random piles of dirty snow the snowplows piled up on the side of the road from the storm the day before, Jason spots a bar that’s still open. It’s late enough in the evening that most places have closed for the holiday. _Looks like someone’s raking it in for us poor schmucks with nowhere else to go. Why the fuck not? I don’t have anything better to do._

The door opens with a bit of a push, sticking a bit on some old weather-stripping. Warm air washes over Jason and the low lighting doesn’t sting at his eyes. The bar isn’t large by any means, but it goes back quite a ways in the narrow space. It’s a bit dingy looking, dark and worn, but the bar is clean, there’re some good looking top shelf brands up high for people to see, and there’s a couple empty pool tables at the back, as well as a dart board. He counts maybe a handful of people in the bar with him, all men in various stages of inebriation. 

An older man with graying hair and a graying beard greets him. “Welcome in, stranger,” he says with a grin. “Close the door, you’re lettin’ all the heat out.” 

Jason closes the door quickly, shoving it hard over the bump in the weather-stripping. “Sorry about that,” he replies with an easy grin. He walks in a bit further and takes off his jacket. His sweater is a dark green, the only shade of green he can even tolerate anymore. Anything brighter reminds him of Lazarus Pit green. It makes this time of year even more difficult for him. 

He walks past a couple of guys who look to be about 20 years older than him and is about to take a seat when he gets a closer look at the mop of black hair on the guy sitting down at the end. _Jesus fuck, is that the Replacement?_ _Nerdy glasses, desperate need of a hair cut, and a red hoodie that’s way too thin for this weather. Yeah, that’s him._

It would be easy to ignore Tim sitting at the end of the bar, but if there’s one trait that’s never been beaten out of Jason, it’s curiosity. _Why the hell is he even here? Last I checked, he has a home and family to be with._ He ignores the little voice that says he has the same home and same family he could be with if he wanted to. 

Jason takes a seat on the barstool next to his replacement. Tim barely looks up, but does a double take when he sees who’s sitting next to him. “Jason?” he asks incredulously. 

“The one and only,” he replies with a flourish as he sets his jacket on the empty stool on his left. 

The bartender comes down to take his order. “What’s good on tap?” he asks. 

“Got the usual,” the man replies and names off a couple of beers that Jason thinks taste like shit. “Also got a winter lager.” Jason orders the lager. 

Tim’s silent through the whole exchange and doesn’t speak up again until after the bartender drops off Jason’s glass and walks down to the other end of the bar where he’s been chatting with the two other guys Jason passed. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

Jason takes a sip of his lager, taking a moment to study his replacement. _Christ, does he look tired. More tired than usual. Even the bags under his eyes have bags now. Fuck, does he even know how to take care of himself?_ “Same as you, Replacement. Getting a drink. Though why you’re here of all places instead of tucked all nice and cozy beside a fireplace with Alfred’s eggnog is something I’ll admit to being a bit curious about.” 

The Replacement tightens his grip on his soda and takes a sip from the straw that looks like it’s been almost chewed through. “Did Dick put you up to this?” he says quietly, like he’s afraid of being overheard. The TV overhead is playing a cartoon Jason doesn’t recognize on low, but there’s a sports show on another screen by the other men that drowns out their voices. “I know you two talk sometimes. I already told him I’m not going to the Manor and nothing you can do will change my mind.” 

_Trouble on the home front. This sounds more interesting than faking interest in a game I don’t give a shit about._ “Haven’t talked to Dickiebird for a few days now. Not since I punched him in his pretty face for trying to convince me to come to Christmas dinner.” 

Tim smirks. “That explains the bruise. You got him good.” 

“I do take some pride in my handiwork.” Jason takes another sip of the lager. _It’s not too bad_. “So what brings you to my neck of the woods? This is way outta the way for someone like you.” 

Someone like Timothy Drake-Wayne wouldn’t be caught dead sitting in a bar in Burnley on Christmas Eve. And Red Robin would be giving a stern lecture on the dangers of underage drinking. But Jason has a feeling he’s not dealing with either of these two guys right now. He’s sitting with Tim Drake, the one person he knows the least about in his whole motley family, though he’s the one who’s been under his knife the most. 

Tim shrugs his thin looking shoulders. It’s easy to underestimate the guy. What he lacks for in upper body strength he more than makes up for with his powerful kicks. Not to say he can’t hit hard, but Jason hits harder. “It’s out of the way,” he says like it’s no big deal. “No one knows me here and I can order whatever I want.” 

Jason snorts. “Must be a good fake ID then. I know you’re not even 20 yet.” 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m double that. Triple even,” Tim comments in a tired voice. 

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Jason finds himself a bit surprised to be agreeing with his replacement. “All the shit we’ve seen, things we’ve done. Fuck, the way our lives are, I’ll be shocked if I even see 30.” He takes a sip of beer. _Shit, where did that come from?_

Tim gives Jason an odd look, like he hadn’t been expecting Jason’s comment either. “So how do you do it?” 

“Do what?” 

Tim waves a hand like that’s suppose to explain everything. “Do what you do. What motivates you to get up in the morning and keep fighting a fight that’s never going to end?” He sounds frustrated but Jason suddenly has a very good idea of why his replacement is here instead of at home. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

Shoulders slump and Tim takes a deep drink through his straw before answering with a sigh. “There was a fire at a women’s shelter over in Coventry the other night. Two adults and six kids didn’t make it out. I searched and searched for them, Jason.” Tim pounds a fist on the bar top and his eyes squeeze shut tightly, holding back what Jason knew had to be tears. “I could hear them shouting and crying for help, but I couldn’t _find them_ before the roof collapsed. I couldn’t save them,” he finishes so softly Jason could barely hear him. 

_Oh shit, that was him? I heard about that fire and that one of the Bats was there. Fuck, something like that’s enough to make anyone snap._

“And let me guess, when you got home, the big guy got all judgy on you and said you could have done better,” Jason says sarcastically. 

Tim takes a couple of deep breaths. “Yeah. The fire examiner’s report came back today. The bodies were found in a playroom where the doors had been locked from the outside. _The outside_. Someone locked those people in that room to die. The whole thing is being investigated as a multiple homicide now, on top of a very obvious case of arson.” 

Jason let out a low whistle. “So when you get this little pity party out of the way, you’re going out to kick ass and take names?” 

Tim clenches his fists again, even harder than before, so that his scarred knuckles look almost white. “No. I’m benched,” he almost growls. “According to Bruce, I’m too emotionally involved to properly distance myself from this investigation. He’s taking over.” 

_Fucking hell, no wonder he’s avoiding the Manor then. Christ, if Bruce tried to pull that shit on me…well, I’m an adult now and I make my own fucking choices, no matter how shitty they are half the time._

“Are you?” Jason asks. 

“Am I what?” Tim glares at him. 

“Too emotionally involved.” 

“Perhaps a bit,” Tim admits. “But not enough for me to not trust my judgment.” 

Jason looks at his lager and takes another sip. _Shit, now here’s the epic question of the night. Do I help the Replacement or not? Okay, Jaybird, let’s think things through. Do I care about what happened at that shelter? Yes. Do I want to catch whatever fucker just offed six kids? Yes. Do I want to stick it Bruce fucking Wayne and try and solve this before him? Yes. Do I have anything better to do tonight? Nope._ He takes a peek at the Replacement out of the corner of his eye. _Am I willing to work with my replacement bird? Shit…_ He finishes his lager with a large gulp. 

“So is Bruce out and about already?” he asks. 

Tim shakes his head. “It’s his first Christmas back since Clark and the others found him. It’s also his first Christmas with the demon brat, so Alfred put his foot down.” 

“Meaning Dickie’s the only one out tonight?” 

“Steph and Cass, actually. Dick’s playing peacekeeper.” Tim gives Jason a curious look at all the questions. “Why’re you asking?” 

Jason shrugs. “Well, I don’t have anything else going on tonight and I don’t play by the same rules,” he says leadingly, watching Tim’s eyes widen as he starts to catch on. “Besides, we all know what my stance is on fuckers who take out kids.” 

“Jason,” Tim says slowly. “Do you…do you want a hand?” he finishes eagerly. 

“Only if you’re not too wasted to keep up with me.” Jason waves a hand to catch the bartender’s eye. 

“I’m not,” Tim replies quickly. “Wasted that is. Jack and coke, with a lot of melted ice.” He starts shuffling around in his pockets to pull out a wallet. 

Jason waves a hand to get him to put it away. “I got this.” He pulls out his own wallet and pays for both their drinks. Getting up, he puts on his jacket and looks down at his replacement. “How long is it going to take you to get ready?” 

“30 minutes, tops.” Tim stands as well and shoves his hands in the pockets of his red hoodie. “I’ve got an apartment close by.” 

“I’ll see you soon, Replacement.” Jason turns and leaves before he can change his mind. 

_What the fuck am I even doing? Working with the Replacement, now there’s a new one._

***** 

The Red Hood and Red Robin stand on the roof of a building overlooking the burned out shelter below. It had snowed since the fire the other night, so it looks even more haunting than a blackened ruin usually appears. 

“…so far police haven’t been able to determine who exactly the kids were, but the two adults have been identified. One was a shelter employee and the other was a woman who’d left her extremely abusive and alcoholic husband a few days before and took their two kids with her.” Tim explains to Jason the details of the case. 

“Fuck me, so four of the kids are completely innocent bystanders?” 

“You got it. The shelter employee is single, has two kids of her own, but they were with their grandmother at the time of the fire.” 

“And two more kids without a mom. Jesus Christ.” Jason shakes his head in disgust. _Merry fucking Christmas._ “The police talk to the one woman’s husband yet?” 

“Yeah, but he’s got an alibi the police are trying to poke holes into. He was brought in for questioning, but was released for lack of evidence.” 

Under his helmet, Jason grins. “Well, let’s see if we can’t speed that process along.” 

Tim gives what Jason knows is a disapproving look from beneath his cowl. “No killing. There’s been enough death these last few days.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it, Replacement. Fucker like this needs to suffer a bit for what he’s done.” 

The flat look morphs into a grin. “I have an address.” 

“What’re we waiting for?” 

The two vigilantes disappear into the night.

*****  

“On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, two black eyes and a bullet through my fucking knee…” Jason sings as he punches the man in front of him hard in the face. He’s already shot the man once in the knee to keep him from running away at the sight of Red Hood and Red Robin crashing through his living room window. 

_The fact this shit stain ran at the sight of us says a whole fucking lot._

The man hits the ground with a _thud_ and Tim kneels down next to him, boots crunching in the broken glass. “He’s going to keep it up until you tell us what happened the other night,” he says reasonably. “And he’s going to keep up the song because he’s ridiculous like that.” 

“Fuck you, I didn’t do nothin’ and the police can’t pin shit on me. That whore got everything she deserved,” the man growled out, trying to get to his feet even with the busted knee. 

_What the hell is he on? Has to be some good shit if he’s ignoring a bullet in the knee._

“Did your kids get what they deserved too?” Tim asks and gestures at Jason. 

“On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, three broken ribs, two black eyes, and a bullet through my fucking knee.” Jason kicks the man hard in the side with his steel-toed work boots, feeling bones crack upon impact. 

The man crumbles back to the ground, gasping in pain. 

“Shame you can’t fit a collapsed lung into the song anymore,” Tim says dryly. 

_The kid is surprising the fuck outta me right now. I expected him to start yelling the moment I shot the asshole, but here he is playing good cop/bad cop instead. Didn’t think he had it in him._

“I can always start over,” Jason quips. “One collapsed lung, two broken arms, and…hmm…three what?” He makes he sounds like he’s seriously contemplating it as the man below him squirms. 

“No, fuck you, stop it.” The man pounds his fist on the ground and lets out an honest to god sniffle. “The kids weren’t supposed to be there,” he gasps. 

Tim turns his attention back to the man. “Really? And how do you know that?” 

“Lizzie said she was taking them to her mom’s house. They were supposed to be there.” The man starts to cry, gasping and hiccupping as he tries to breath around his broken ribs. 

Jason lets out a sigh and looks around the dingy room, anywhere to take his sight off the piece of garbage in front of him. A small Christmas tree stands in the corner, a single strand of colored lights twinkling in the dim room amidst what Jason knows are homemade ornaments. A couple of packages sit beneath the tree. He knows in his gut there’s one for each of the kids. Just one. _These kids had a mom who at least fucking tried. She tried to give her kids a Christmas. Tried to save them from this shitty life.  
_

He remembers a few times where his mom made the effort at Christmas for him. Even if there wasn’t a tree, she’d at least find some lights and they’d make paper ornaments from colored construction paper to hang up from the lights with string. 

Tim stands up and lets out a sigh. “I’ll call it in,” he offers, breaking Jason from his thoughts. “Make sure he talks this time.” 

“Sure, whatever.” He resists the urge to kick the man in the face. 

“Hey, Hood?” Tim asks as Jason heads to the shattered window. 

“What?” he growls. 

“Thanks,” he says. “I appreciate the assist.” 

There are a lot of things Jason could say to that, but he decides to keep it simple. “You’re welcome, Replacement.” 

He disappears out the window.

***** 

A couple hours later, Jason is sitting in his drafty apartment with his small space heater plugged in and running full blast. He’s got his tea and a book and for once the sofa beneath him is comfortable and the flannel blanket he picked up a few weeks ago at the thrift store is cozy. The light from the lamp on the side table shines down across the book in his hands. 

_God, what a fucking sap I’m turning out to be tonight. First I help the Replacement, now I’m reading A Christmas Carol. Will this night just end already?_

He settles into the crook of the sofa, long legs tucked up and curled off to the side as he leans into the cushioned arm. 

Jason’s at the part where Scrooge is about to receive his first ghost of the night when there’s a knock on his apartment door. The sound is so unexpected and yet perfectly in time with the book that Jason startles and almost falls off the sofa. _What the fuck was that? Who the hell is even here at ass o’clock in the morning on Christmas Day?_

Getting up, Jason pulls a gun from where it’s been tucked between the cushions of the sofa and thumbs off the safety. He crosses the small room and peers out the peephole to see who’s there. 

It’s Tim. 

Jason narrows his eyes in confusion and thumbs the safety back on. _Didn’t even know he knew where this place was. I’ve only been here a couple weeks. What the hell is he doing here?_ He turns off his alarm and unlocks the door. Opening it, he stands there and gives Tim a flat look. 

Tim looks a bit sheepish and holds up a big paper grocery store bag in what looks like a peace offering. “I, um… I wanted to thank you. For earlier. And, umm…” he trails off uncertainly as Jason doesn’t move. 

_Fucking hell…_ He steps aside and holds the door open wider. “Dickiebird better not be sneaking around. He’s the reason I moved outta my last apartment.” 

“He’s not!” Tim says quickly and enters before Jason changes his mind. In addition to the paper bag, he’s got a messenger bag slung over his chest. 

Jason locks the door and resets the alarm. Leaning against the door, he crosses his arms across his chest. “What’s in the bag?” 

Tim looks like he’s forgotten he’s even carrying the bag for a moment. “Oh, um, care package from Alfred. I told him earlier today I wasn’t going to be at the Manor tonight and he gave me all this. Not even sure what’s all here, but I know there’s eggnog.” 

_Food from Alfred. Fuck yes._ A smirk tugs at the corner of Jason’s lips. “Well, let’s find out then.” 

The bag contains a couple of tins of different holiday cookies Jason hasn’t enjoyed in years, along with a large thermos of eggnog he and Tim quickly determine isn’t the non-alcoholic kind, as well as a half-frozen casserole that Jason immediately turns on his oven for. Tim said he’d just shoved everything in his fridge when he got home earlier and didn’t look at what was what all that closely. 

Before long, the casserole was baking and Jason and Tim were seated on the sofa with a tin of cookies sitting on the cushion between them and holding cups of the spiked eggnog. Jason found another blanket for Tim, who’d wrapped himself up in it immediately. 

“I don’t think Alfie gave you all this to share with me,” Jason comments with a pointed look. 

“It’s mine to share as I please,” Tim replies with a small salute of his red plastic cup. “And I decided to share it with you. If I ever tell Alfred, I know it’ll make him happy I did.”

“Yeah,” Jason replies quietly and takes a long drink from his own red cup. _Shit, I must have done something right today to end up with all this. Replacement aside, it hasn’t been a bad night. Okay, fuck that, even dealing with Timmers hasn’t been all that bad tonight._

Tim looks like he’s about ready to fall asleep as he finishes his eggnog and snags a colorful spritz cookie from the tin. “Hey Jason?” he asks. 

“Yeah?” 

“Merry Christmas,” Tim says sleepily, blinking slowly in the dim light. The side table lamp is the only light Jason has on, other than the microwave light in the kitchen to see by when the casserole is ready. 

A small slightly crooked smile appears on Jason’s face before he can catch himself. “Merry Christmas, Tim.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays!


End file.
